Wraith
by T. M. Zai
Summary: "Raven Mage" AU. What if Raven didn't have Sirius Black to keep her sane while in Azkaban? What if from the beginning, she was taught only to revere Lord Voldemort? What if instead of an unwilling thief, our Mage was the Voldemort's most loyal servant?
1. Prologue

June, 1997: Albus Dumbledore succumbs to death at the hands of Severus Snape, taking with him the hope of many of the Wizarding World. For without their champion, without the man whom the Dark Lord Voldemort feared the most, who would stand for them? Some turned their hopes to the young Harry Potter, the supposed 'Chosen One', for he had so often escaped Voldemort's grasp and foiled so many of the Dark Lord's plans.

But another blow is dealt when the Auror, Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, falls as Dumbledore did, in an attempt to secure the safety of Harry.

August 1st, 1997: With the death of Rufus Scrimgeour and graceful coup of the Ministry, Voldemort now had at his disposal all of the power of the Minister of Magic, all of his resources to track down and finally end Harry Potter before his threat to the Dark Lord's plans could be realized.

But in the chaos, the 'Chosen One' seemed to disappear. There were whispers that Voldemort had finally captured him… that the Boy Who Lived…lived no longer.

Unknown to the whole of the Wizarding World, Harry Potter and his closest friends were secretly hunting the means to bring the Dark Lord Voldemort down. Under the instructions of the late Albus Dumbledore, the three sought the pieces of Voldemort's fractured soul; his Horcruxes. Dumbledore himself had destroyed one, the Peverell Ring, in the months before his death. And Harry Potter had unknowingly destroyed another when he destroyed the Riddle diary. However, the search was not without complications. On the night of Albus Dumbledore's death, he and Harry had gone in search of another of the Horcruxes; Slytherin's Locket. Dumbledore was certain of the location and indeed they did find a locket. But shortly after Dumbledore's death, Harry discovered that the locket was a fake. The true Horcrux had been stolen some time before by a person who called themselves R.A.B.—and the fate of that Horcrux was unknown.

August 2nd, 1997: Seeking refuge from Death Eaters and Ministry workers alike, Harry Potter and his friends hid away in Grimmauld Place. It was there that they found that the identity of R.A.B. It was the younger of the Black brothers, Regulus. For a shining moment, the Trio believed the Locket was within their grasp. The House-Elf Kreacher told them of how Regulus discovered the truth of the Locket and entrusted it to the Elf before his demise. But Kreacher confessed that he had lost the Locket to Mundungus Fletcher. And when the Trio tracked down the thief, Fletcher confessed that he too had lost the Locket.

—to Dolores Umbridge.

The Trio at once made plans to relieve Umbridge of the Locket.

August 10th, 1997: The war against Voldemort takes yet another turn for the worse. In the early morning hours, Harry is woken by a violent vision into the Dark Lord's mind.

Voldemort has discovered that his precious Horcrux, the treasured heirloom of his ancient ancestor, in Umbridge's possession. Overcome by sudden rage and fear for the other Horcruxes, Voldemort tortures Umbridge to discern how she came to have the Locket. He then dispatches her and seeks out the hiding places of the rest of his fractured soul.

August 12th, 1997: Dolores Umbridge is found dead in her office within the Ministry. The panic that ensues thereafter only increases Voldemort's hold upon the Ministry and its people. Those of the Wizarding World are plunged further and further into doubt and dread. And those of the Muggle world begin to notice that not all is right with their world either.

With both Dumbledore and Mad-Eye Moody dead, and Harry Potter apparently missing, the Order of the Phoenix suffers. Though select few keep their hope and their faith in Harry, the resistance against the Dark Lord Voldemort dwindles as the weeks—and months—go by.

* * *

**Wraith**

* * *

_January 1__st__, 1998_

In those dim dark hours before dawn, at the very beginning of a new year, the rain that perpetually fell upon the stone and iron of Azkaban was little more than ice and glass, cutting into the ground like blades, slicing into the surrounding sea.

But the shadow that streaked across the ice-drenched sky seemed to take no notice. When at last it came to rest upon the threshold of the Wizarding prison, it stood straight and tall, the black of its cloak still flying in the high wind. The shadow—the figure threw open the great doors with apparent ease and swept inside, though the walls and bars offered no haven from the bitter cold.

With purpose in each step he took, he ascended to the highest level of the dank prison. Here, the cells were smaller, their captives more confined—more dangerous to those that imprisoned them there. But as he passed each cell by, he took note that they seemed empty.

Until he came to one door. Peering inside, he could see, only just, the caged figure laying across the cot within the cell, her form barely outlined in the thin, fragile moonlight. Only for that first moment did he hesitate, wondering, fleetingly, if the figure within still held life.

But when he unlocked and pulled open the heavy door, he saw her eyes flash open and turn to him. In the dim light they studied one another.

What he saw was a pair of feverous, crystal blue eyes staring out of a wasted, almost corpse-like face, framed by long tangled locks of raven-black hair, her skeletal frame draped in the ragged robes of Azkaban. Her eyes seemed overlarge in her thin face, and held hints of both fury and curiosity in them. Azkaban had long since stolen whatever loveliness she may have had.

Slowly, keeping those bright eyes on him, she sat up and raised a hand to push back the hair from her face. "You," she whispered, her voice harsh from disuse, "are not my watcher."

"No," he replied evenly. He tilted his head slightly to one side, reflecting his curiosity. "Your watcher?"

"That what he does," she whispered back. "He watches me. My watcher, my keeper. He comes and goes…makes sure that I'm not starving myself. And he watches." She paused and tilted her head in a mirror of him. "He has not come here for some time. Not since the Dementors abandoned their charges."

"Ah."

"If you are not he," she whispered, a hint of dark humor coming to her rough voice, "then who would you be?"

He reached up and lowered the hood of his cloak. Her eyes widened and the humor and derision faded from them. Her pale, colorless lips opened and closed once as speech failed her.

"I am Lord Voldemort."

Hesitantly, moving as though through water, she stood—and then fell at once to her knees, bowing her head. Something like a sigh escaped her and she lifted her head slightly.

"He, my watcher, he said you would come." She dared to bring her eyes to his once more. "I stopped believing him a long time ago. I believed I would die here, forgotten, when my watcher stopped coming."

Voldemort looked down at her, something of a smile twisted his mouth. He gestured idly. "Stand."

She did so, though with obvious difficulty. Voldemort noted how her legs shook and judged that it was weakness, not fear that made her shake. She was quite obviously frail, physically so. He would have to correct that, if she was to be of any use to him. Her mind seemed sharp enough.

"What is your name?"

Again, she opened her mouth only to close it again. "…I don't remember," she replied, as though she had trouble believing the words. "My watcher called me nothing. I do not remember it."

"No matter," Voldemort told her. "I shall give you a new one."


	2. The Girl Unknown

**Chapter One: The Girl Unknown**

_"When you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you."_

_

* * *

_

Narcissa Malfoy gazed across the parlor of their glorious home at her husband, silent words of comfort hung in the air between them. Lucius, an air of shame surrounding him, turned his eyes back to the fireplace. He watched the flames dance, but did not believe he could feel their warmth.

They, and the others in the room, felt as though they walked on glass, waiting for the reason they were called for to be revealed. Bellatrix Lestrange sat on the edge of her seat, eyes glancing between the parlor doors and the man who stood at the windows. He was the only person in the room that she did not recognize, and therefore he was automatically a threat.

In the heavy silence that permeated the room, Narcissa crossed to her husband, placing her hands on his shoulders and resting her pale cheek against his arm. Lucius put a hand over hers, but said nothing. The affection in the gesture, however, was clear. Narcissa murmured something too low for the others in the room to hear and Lucius nodded slightly.

Bella saw and narrowed her eyes. "What are you mumbling about?" she demanded.

"Nothing important to you, Bella dear," Lucius replied with a spark of his old pride.

"Don't you speak to me like—"

"Bellatrix," Narcissa's voice was like a whip. "Just—just stop. Please."

Bellatrix opened her mouth to snap back—but before the barb escaped her lips, she felt the familiar burn upon her arm. By the way he flinched, Lucius felt it as well. Bellatrix rose swiftly to her feet and hurried towards the parlor doors. Taking his wife's arm, Lucius followed her out into the entrance hall. They, in turn, were followed the fourth man, apparently unnoticed.

Bella started towards the doors to open them, but as she took that first step, they flung open of their own accord.

Lord Voldemort swept inside, cloaked against the icy rain and sleet. Following close behind him was a slight shadowed figure, also cloaked. And while the Dark Lord stepped inside at once, the girl stopped at the threshold, absurdly threatened by the stares of the strangers before her. But all Voldemort had to do was glance at her before she hurriedly followed him in, standing very close as though using him as a shield.

The Dark Lord waited as the four before him bowed in respect and fear.

"Welcome, my Lord," Bella said breathlessly, unable to stop herself from glancing surreptitiously at the girl.

The girl raised a hand to hold the edge of her hood to further hide her face, not wanting to see the stares and wishing she could not still feel them.

Voldemort looked over each face. "Narcissa." The pale woman did her best not to flinch as she stepped forward. Voldemort took the girl's shoulder and pulled her forward a ways. "See to the girl."

"My Lord." Narcissa stepped towards her, offering a hand, but the girl backtracked, flinching away from touch.

The girl looked quickly to Voldemort. "My Lord?" Her words were whispered, barely heard by the others.

"Go with Narcissa," he instructed.

She nodded once and glanced at Narcissa, eyes bright with apprehension. The older woman reached out and gently took the girl's elbow, barely touching her even as she drew her away from Voldemort's shadow and into her own. Narcissa nodded to the Dark Lord to indicate she had it in hand.

Voldemort at once turned on his heel, walking back to the door. "I'll return shortly," he said to the general hearing. "Gavin."

The fourth man, Gavin, walked past Lucius and Bellatrix to follow the Dark Lord. As he passed her, he spoke in hushed tones to the girl. "I told you so."

Beneath the shadows of her cloak, the girl's face contorted into extreme dislike. When he dared to reach out to touch her, she made a low warning sound akin to a growl. Gavin scowled, but quickly followed Voldemort out the doors, closing them sharply behind him.

"_Watcher_," the girl murmured too low for Narcissa to hear.

The moment that the doors closed, Bellatrix turned threateningly to the girl. She was disappointed and insulted that Voldemort had said not a word to her. "Who are you?" she demanded ruthlessly. 'Why have you come here?"

"Bella," Narcissa began in warning, ever cautious eyes flickering to the doors.

"No," Bellatrix said, cutting her sister off. "Let the wretch answer."

The girl's spine stiffened. "I didn't come here, I was brought." Her words were low, but harsh. "As far as the first question—save it for our Dark Lord, for I do not know."

Narcissa looked at the girl questioningly. "Your name?"

"I don't know," her voice is softer for the gentler question. "The Dark Lord said he would give me a new one."

"Ah." Narcissa pulled gently on the girl's arm. "Come upstairs," she instructed. "We'll get you cleaned up—maybe find something besides those rags for you to wear."

* * *

Voldemort walked silently along the path that led away from Malfoy Manor, Gavin a step behind him. "You've done well," Voldemort said. "Certainly enough to excuse your earlier blunder."

"I am glad to be of service to you, my Lord."

"Be glad to be alive, Gavin. You very nearly cost me everything."

Gavin flinched, but wisely remained silent.

"Her loyalty is an unexpected element," Voldemort continued. "One that can be used to great advantage. Her purpose shall be redefined to suit. I want to see what she will do with her power." He paused on the path. "Did you know she calls you her 'watcher'?"

Gavin blinked. "Oh, yes," he said, clearing his throat. "Well, I never properly introduced myself, really. I thought a good level of distance was best."

"Hm. I cannot deny the results." Voldemort began walking again, going over that first meeting in his mind. "She's frail, in body, I mean. She seems to have trouble standing for very long. A nuisance."

Gavin swallowed. "I apologize, my Lord," he said quickly.

Voldemort waved the useless words aside. "No matter. I've waited eighteen years for this creature—I can wait a little longer while she builds her strength." He glanced through the trees at the Malfoy's grand home. "We'll keep her here. It will keep Narcissa occupied as well."

"A sound plan, my Lord."

"She's forgotten her own name, Gavin."

Again, Gavin felt the flutter of panic in his chest, not knowing whether or not Voldemort was angry with him or just stating a fact. "Her name was something Christine gave her. I didn't wish to encourage the connection."

"It is well enough," Voldemort said. "It is rather proper, after all, that I be the one to name her."

* * *

Upstairs, Narcissa ran a bath, filling the water with several salts and scents she found soothing. The girl stood at the corner of the room closest to the door, as though waiting to bolt at the first opportunity. Patiently, Narcissa held out a hand. "Come on then, dear. Let me take your cloak."

The girl slowly lowered the hood and unclasped the catch at the hollow of her throat. As she passed it to Narcissa, the older woman noted that the robes beneath the cloak were ragged and gray. She was surprised the girl wasn't shivering, for although the cloak had held off most of the rain, it could not stop all of the torrent.

"Aren't you cold?" Narcissa asked, and despite the instinct that told her not to, lifted her eyes slightly to look at her face. The girl—_no_, Narcissa realized, _the young woman_—met her gaze unflinchingly. And meeting those eyes Narcissa found that she could not look away.

"Why do you stare so?" the younger woman asked. She could not help but wonder what she looked like.

"Your…your vision," Narcissa stammered. "Is it clear?"

After a blink of surprise, she nodded. "Yes," she replied slowly. "Why?"

Unable to put what she saw in words, she drew the young woman over to the mirror.

Looking into the glass for the first time she could remember, the young woman almost wished she hadn't. She thought at first that Narcissa stared because she looked so akin to a corpse, the wretch that Bellatrix had called her. But then she saw her own eyes. Frowning, she leaned closer to the mirror.

Her eyes, a pale crystal blue that seemed rather glass-like, were—cracked. Within the pale color were tiny line, little fissures that went from the center to the edge.

"Oh."

"Have they always been like that?" Narcissa asked.

"I don't know," her guest replied uneasily. In her mind's eye, she could see the pale color unmarred, but she didn't know if it was memory or imagination.

Narcissa considered her. "Well, I suppose there aren't many mirrors in Azkaban."

The young woman stiffened, meeting her eyes in their reflections. "How did you know?"

"My husband was locked within Azkaban," Narcissa told her. "My sister, Bellatrix, spent over a decade there. I recognize the mark that it leaves."

"Bellatrix…the other woman downstairs?" The young woman turned. "She's your sister?"

"Yes."

She turned back to the mirror, contemplative. "I would appreciate it if you'd keep this to yourself," she murmured in her low voice. "My time in Azkaban, I mean. I'd like my past to stay mine."

"I understand," Narcissa replied. She lifted a hand to touch the young woman's shoulder in comfort, but then seemed to think better of it. "I'll leave you to your bath, my dear."

It was only after Narcissa had shut the door behind her that those broken eyes turned back to the mirror and remained there. _What does my reflection say of me_? She wondered silently, looking from her own strange eyes to the hollow cheeks, the thin, colorless lips. She'd never had a reflection to contemplate before. It was strange for her to have one now. _No reflection—no name—had I nothing at all before he came?_

She breathed deep and forced herself to turn away from the mirror. _It doesn't matter_, she told herself firmly. _I have something now. I have him._


	3. Weapon

**Chapter Two: Weapon**

_"The secret of success is to know something nobody else knows."_

_

* * *

_

Narcissa waited until she heard the girl climb out of the bathwater before going over to the door, knocking gently. Without waiting for a reply, she cracked the door open, offering a dressing gown through it. The girl hurried forward to take it, pushing strands of wet hair from her face. As soon as she had it wrapped around her thin frame, Narcissa pushed the door open the rest of the way. There, she paused, staring at the girl again.

She seemed almost lost, the older woman thought, the dressing gown far too large for her. It didn't help that the girl looked incredibly emaciated with her long hair wet and pushed back from her face. Narcissa found herself rather intimidated by the sight and for a moment wondered if the girl could be nothing more than a new kind of Inferi—but she quickly dismissed the thought. "Come then," she said imperiously. "We'll find you something to wear."

She led the girl into her and Lucius's bedroom and immediately went to the back of her own vast closet to search. The girl stood in the middle of the room, obviously unsure of what to do with herself. She could hear Narcissa murmuring to herself as the woman searched through some of her older things.

"Here," Narcissa said at last, pulling down a few dresses. She brought them out with her, laying them on her bed with a touch of pride, though they no longer fit her. She gestured for the strange girl to move closer. "I really don't know why I've kept these," she said distractedly, smoothing out one of the skirts. "I've been too tall for them since before I married. Perhaps I was hoping for another child someday…" She slapped a hand over her mouth, appalled by herself.

"You have a child?" the girl asked softly, as she reached forward to gently touch one of the dresses.

"Yes," Narcissa said, swallowing back fear. "My son—Draco." She attempted a laugh, but it was weak. "I don't know why I say such things," she said, as though dismissing the pain in her voice. "As though Lucius and I would force our children to wear ragged hand-me-downs."

The girl wondered if the pain was for the child she already had or the fact that she obviously dared not have another. She almost asked, but the look in Narcissa's eyes made her pause.

Reaching out again, she touched the dress closest to her, a soft black one with trailing sleeves. Narcissa took it up and passed it to the girl, pointing to a screen in the corner of the room. "You can change behind there," she said. "I set everything else you'll need back there while you were in the bath."

The girl nodded and disappeared behind the screen. Narcissa let out a breath and scanned the room for her hairbrush.

A few minutes later, the girl reappeared. The dress was too long and slightly too large overall, but looking the girl over, Narcissa decided it would do for the time being. The cut of the dress did much to emphasize the girl's strangeness; it left her shoulders bare, but the sleeves were overlong, draping over her thin hands.

"Not as bad as I expected," Narcissa said, circling the girl once. The girl seemed almost fae, inhuman but not completely unappealing. There was a trace of grace in her cautious movements…Narcissa shook her head, hoping to dislodge the errant thoughts. "I suppose you're lucky I've never been as, _ahem_, voluptuous as my sisters. Here." She pointed her wand at the trailing skirt and it shrunk a few inches. "That's better… still a little long, but at least now the skirts won't drag across the floor."

Narcissa flicked her wand at the two remaining dresses, still laid across the bed, and they flew back to hand themselves back in the closet. The woman then gestured to the bed. "If you'll trust me for a few minutes, I'll brush your hair out for you."

Obviously hesitant, the girl turned those broken eyes to the floor for a minute. But to Narcissa's surprise and a little pleasure, she sat on the edge of the bed, folding her hands in her lap. Narcissa allowed herself a small smile and sat behind her, hairbrush in hand. Slowly, and very carefully, she began to attack the many knots. The girl's hair was long enough that it pooled a little on the bed. It was a deep raven black and rather lovely—but it was also thick and proved rather difficult to disentangle. It took more patience than Narcissa had anticipated and it was only caution of the girl's anxiety that kept her from cursing numerous times as she brushed through.

When she was finally able to pull the brush through completely, Narcissa sighed with relief. "There."

The girl lifted a hand to her hair, pulling a few strands over her shoulder to see them. Something of a smile appeared as she ran fingers through the usually tangled locks.

But in a sudden movement, the girl's head snapped up, in the direction of the door. She stood and moved quickly towards it. "He's come back."

Narcissa leapt up, grabbing the girl's arm, "Wait!" She immediately let go with a gasp of pain as a sharp burning shock ran through her hand and up her own arm. But the girl stopped nonetheless. Narcissa rubbed her hand, frowning. "We should wait," she told her slowly, "until we are called." She sat, gesturing for the girl to sit with her again. But the girl shook her head, moving to one of the windows instead.

Watching her, Narcissa realized what a mistake she had made. _She'll never let me touch her again._ She wondered what had happened to the girl that she so disliked to be touched.

They only had to wait for ten minutes or so before someone knocked at the door. Narcissa stood to answer, but it opened before she reached it. Her heart clenched when she saw her husband there in the doorway. He looked as he always looked in the presence of the Dark Lord—defeated.

Lucius looked to his wife, glancing briefly at the girl at the window. He said nothing—but then, he didn't need to.

The two women followed him downstairs to the parlor, where everyone waited. Gavin stood beside the window once more, smiling slightly at the sight of the girl. Bellatrix was pacing the floor impatiently, not daring to sit while her Lord still stood.

Voldemort stood at the fire, eyes upon the yew wand in his hands. He lifted his gaze to the doorway at the sound of their footsteps. He looked right past the others to the girl behind them.

Lucius and Narcissa quickly bowed to the Dark Lord and stood aside. The girl stood in the doorway, her eyes locked upon Voldemort. He gestured to her, silently calling her forward. She moved from the door to the hearth in careful, deliberate steps. Once in front of him, she bent slightly at the knees in a shaky imitation of Narcissa's graceful curtsy. Voldemort smirked and touched her chin, lifting her face so that the firelight would better illuminate it. He tilted his head to one side, studying her.

"I have a name for you."

The girl blinked slowly, holding her breath.

"_Wraith_."

"My Lord?" Gavin stepped away from the window towards the fire.

"Her name, Gavin," Voldemort said, not looking at him, "Her name is Wraith."

The girl closed her eyes, bowing her head. "Thank you," she murmured. "Thank you, my Lord."

Voldemort glanced at those assembled. "Leave."

Lucius and Narcissa needed no more encouragement and quickly made for the door. Lucius paused at the doorway, glancing back at Gavin and Bellatrix, who had not moved. A flicker of barely controlled emotion crossed the pale man's face, but what which emotion was anyone's guess. It might have been fear—or ambition. If Bella—who was still a favorite of their Dark Lord—dared to defy him or question the smallest of commands…well, perhaps she would not remain one of the favored.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed as he gazed at the two who remained. "Did I not just instruct you to leave?"

"But—my Lord…?" Bellatrix seemed to struggle to hold her tongue. She may have been impulsive—but she was not stupid. Her dark eyes darted between her Lord and the girl, who now gazed impassively into the fire.

"My Lord," Gavin said softly, "I had thought that—"

"Out, Gavin," Voldemort said, just as softly, though his voice carried venom. "She is no longer your charge." He turned his eyes back to her. "She is mine."

Gavin fought not to scowl and bowed low to Voldemort, saying nothing more as he left the room.

"Bella." Voldemort did not bother to look at her.

Bellatrix gritted her teeth. "But what _is_ she? What is she _doing_ here?"

Voldemort flicked his wand once. Bellatrix gasped in shock and pain and was then quickly reduced to mindless screaming. She slid to the floor, convulsing wildly as the Cruciatus Curse coursed under her skin.

Voldemort stepped away from the girl to stand beside Bellatrix. His eyes held no pity as he looked down at her, but after only a moment, he released the spell. Bella lay gasping on the floor, struggling to breathe. When at last she was able to lift her head, Voldemort spoke in an acidic whisper. "_Leave_."

Bella let out a sobbing breath and pulled herself from the ground, dashing to the door. The girl turned as she did and caught sight of Narcissa's frightened face just beyond the door before it closed sharply.

"What does it mean?" the girl murmured. "My…my name?"

"Ghost," Voldemort replied, not turning towards her. "Specter, phantom. Take your pick."

"My Lord?"

Voldemort looked at her.

Wraith lifted her broken eyes to his.

"What are my orders?"

He smiled.

* * *

Not half an hour later, the door to the parlor opened. Wraith stood, one hand on the doorframe, gazing at the group still assembled there. There was a contented look in her eye, though her face held only the barest hint of emotion. She looked at each of them in turn before she turned back and disappeared into the parlor again.

Lucius was the first to move, understanding the unspoken summons. He gestured to Narcissa, who quickly took his arm, and they stepped into the room after the girl. They were followed quickly by Bellatrix and Gavin.

Voldemort stood by the fire, as before, but now Wraith stood beside him, head bowed, hands clasped behind her back. In the firelight, her wasted face seemed more pronounced.

"Lucius."

Lucius quickly bowed. "My Lord."

"You and your wife will be playing host to my Wraith," Voldemort told him. "I expect her to be treated with the utmost respect."

"Of course, My Lord," Lucius said.

Narcissa swallowed back a jolt of apprehension. "Our home is always at your disposal, my Lord."

"I know," Voldemort replied. "I shall return for her in some months. See that she builds her strength, Lucius, Narcissa." His gaze flickered to Bella. "What was that, Bella? Speak a little louder."

Bella paled dangerously, but lifted her voice. "Is she nothing more than your new pet—my Lord?"

"Pet?" Voldemort smiled slowly. "Oh, no, Bella dear."

He placed a hand under the girl's chin, lifting her face once more.

"She's my new weapon."


	4. The New World

**Chapter Three: The New World**

"_All that really belongs to us is time; even he who has nothing else has that."_

_

* * *

_

The late hour in which the Dark Lord took his leave saw the touch of dawn at the horizon. Wraith stood at the doors beside him, a silent but palpable presence.

"Be on your best behavior, my Wraith," Voldemort told her. "Practice your magicks, but do not waste them. You remember what we spoke of at Azkaban?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Good. Keep it forefront in your mind. I shall return."

"When?"

The single word was spoken with such innocence and yearning that he paused, looking back at her. _So curious, _he thought, _to see such emotions…and all for me._

"When I choose to," he replied. It pleased him to see her simply nod in acceptance. "Build your strength, my Wraith, else I will have no use for you."

"Yes, my Lord."

He looked to the east. "The morning is not far off. Have Narcissa find you a room where you can sleep."

Again, the girl nodded. She waited there at the door's threshold, watching his back as he walked down the path towards the gates. It wasn't until he had reached the gates and disappeared that she turned back into the Manor and shut the doors behind her. She slipped back into the parlor, where Lucius and Narcissa waited still. Bella seemed to have disappeared; something that Wraith did not trust. And she did not see Gavin either. Wraith felt a chill slide down her back.

Ignoring it, she looked to Lucius. "He is gone."

She saw and understood the relief that passed quickly across the man's face, though she did not feel it herself. Lucius turned to his wife, offering his hand. "I think it far past time that we sought our beds," he said. "Come," he said to Wraith. "We'll show you your rooms."

Wraith followed them upstairs, eyes downcast. On the second landing, they stopped before the first door. Lucius unlocked it with a quick charm and pushed it open, standing aside for Wraith to see.

The room was moderately large, with a long couch, and several chairs, a small table. The windows were tall, covered with dark curtains. Wraith took it all in and then turned to Lucius with a curious look.

He pointed to a door on the left wall. "The bedroom is through there. You have your own bath as well."

"We'll see about further clothes for you—" Narcissa began.

"No need," Wraith murmured. "I'll see to my own." Narcissa saw the hint of a smile. "It will be good practice."

On those enigmatic words, she bowed her head to both Lucius and Narcissa and stepped into her room. Lucius started away, but Narcissa hesitated. Wraith looked at her, head tilted to one side in curiosity.

"We'll see you in the morning," Narcissa told her gently. "Sleep well."

"Thank you," Wraith all but whispered. "You too."

Narcissa nodded and then hurried to catch up with her husband. Wraith stood in the doorway of her rooms, watching as they sought the refuge of their rooms. Just as their door closed, however, Wraith heard another door creak open.

Across the hall, several doors down, he leaned against his doorframe, a very satisfied smile on his face.

Wraith shook with the effort not to move.

"Goodnight, my _Wraith_," he said.

"I'm not your anything anymore," she hissed.

The dark humor faded from his face and he stepped forward. She lifted her head in defiance, but still she shook. He stopped only an inch from her and he towered over her small frame.

"You do look marvelous in a proper dress," he told her. "One would think you were born for the finer things."

A thousand responses came to her mind, but in the end she dismissed them all. Slowly, she stopped her shivering and simply looked up at him. "Goodnight, Gavin." She stepped back and shut the door in his face. She smiled to hear his soft curse on the other side and the last of her ingrained fear vanished. "You are no longer my watcher, nor my keeper," she whispered. "You have no hold over me. You never will again. I swear it."

Whether he had heard those last words, she did not know or care. They were not really for him. They were for her.

* * *

She did not sleep well. She was unused to having a real bed on which to sleep and it distracted her to no end. When the sky was fully light outside her window, she slipped out of the unfamiliar bed and dressed quickly. She found a brush on the otherwise empty dresser in the corner of her room and ran it through her raven hair.

But as she stepped out of the bedroom, she stopped, undecided, in the other room. Were the Malfoys even awake yet? It had only been a few hours after all. And she did not wish to take the risk of running into either Gavin or Bellatrix without their presence.

So she lay across the couch, finding it far more like her usual bed. She closed her eyes, wondering if sleep would come easier there. She drifted, her thoughts a complicated tangle, for almost another hour. Though true sleep still eluded her, she found the 'cat nap' more restful than her earlier attempt.

Giving up, she stood and crossed the one of the windows. She touched the dark curtains, running her hand over the dusty velvet, enjoying the feel of it against her skin.

Struck by a sudden longing, she threw the curtains open, spilling sunlight across the room. She pressed her hands against the glass, gazing at the magnificent grounds below. A twisting and intricate garden path lay just beneath her window, the mid-morning sun making the flowers seem brighter, and the light danced over the pale marble statuary that littered the greenery.

_I could go outside_. The thought astonished her and almost frightened her. _I am free to do what I like. I could go out there and walk the paths—see the flowers—feel the sun._

The sun through the window teased her senses and seemed to call to her. She breathed deep and then turned from the window, hurrying to the door. She practically ran down the hall and the twisting stair. She was halfway to the front doors when she heard someone call her.

Wraith stopped and turned to the parlor door. Narcissa stood there, elegantly dressed and made up, her pale hair coifed to perfection. The difference in her made Wraith blink.

"I didn't know you were awake," Narcissa said, frowning slightly. She gestured to the room behind her. "We were just taking brunch. Are you hungry?"

Wraith hesitated and then shook her head. "I…I was going to go outside…just for a minute…"

Narcissa nodded. "Of course," she said softly. "Go right ahead."

Again, a hint of a smile appeared before the girl dashed down to the doors. Narcissa wondered if the girl even knew how to really smile.

The air was still cold when she took those first few steps. But she could feel the sun upon her skin, the warmth it promised. She couldn't remember ever having felt it before. The sun did not often make an appearance at Azkaban. It was a stranger to her.

She paused, looking all around her, before she turned to go around to the garden that she'd seen out of her window.

As she walked that twisting path, she reached out to touch each flower that she passed. They felt icy to her fingers and she realized that each was coated in frost. _It's winter_, she remembered belatedly. _Shouldn't there be snow?_ It only snowed occasionally at Azkaban, but every time that it did, it was misery. It turned everything to ice.

Curious, she made her way to the wall that marked the edge of the Manor's grounds and walked until she came to a gate. Looking out over the land beyond, she saw what she had been unable to see in the dark the night before. _Snow._ Pale, glittering snow that covered the ground and touched the trees. It was beautiful to her eyes. Something she had never seen.

_There must be a charm on the grounds,_ she realized, glancing back over her shoulder. She looked back to the untouched powder on the other side of the gate. Part of her longed to touch it, just to see if it was as soft as it looked. But yet another part of her, a stronger part, was afraid to venture beyond the gate.

She lifted her head to the sky above and suddenly felt very small.

_It just goes on and on…as though it could swallow me up and not even notice._

Slowly, she stepped backwards a few steps before she turned and ran back through the garden and back to the front doors. There, at the threshold, she stopped again.

She was still standing there, staring up at the sky, when Narcissa came out of the parlor. The older woman saw the mesmerized expression on the girl's face and approached slowly.

"Wraith?" she called gently. "Why don't you come inside? You're letting in the cold."

"Oh." Her voice was very small. "I'm sorry." She stepped back and shut the doors. She blinked several times before she looked to Narcissa expectantly.

"Would you like something to eat?" Narcissa asked.

Wraith nodded hesitantly.

Narcissa led her further down the hall to what seemed to be the dining room. There were several dishes, obviously from her and Lucius's meal, but there was also one untouched plate. Narcissa gestured for the girl to sit before she lifted a little bell from the table and rang it once.

A tiny head poked out from the kitchen. "Yes, Mistress?"

"Jiri," Narcissa said, her tone firm. "Fetch the Lady Wraith something to eat." She held up a hand to stop the house-elf from leaving. "Keep it simple. Nothing too rich."

The house-elf nodded, scurrying away. Wraith watched him go, frowning. She glanced up at Narcissa. "Who was that?"

"Jiri," Narcissa told her, sitting in the chair across from her. "A house-elf. It was a gift from our friend, Severus Snape. We lost our own elf a few years ago."

When the house-elf came back into the dining room, balancing a serving dish on his head, Wraith studied him. He wore a tea towel like a toga and Wraith could see that his hands were heavily bandaged. Her frown deepened.

Jiri set the serving dish on the table and stepped back, bowing his head. He lifted nervous eyes when he felt Wraith's gaze still upon him.

Seeing the fear in his eyes, Wraith quickly turned to what he had brought out. On the dish was a bowl of porridge, dotted with strawberries. There was bread as well, obviously freshly baked. It was the bread that she reached for first, for it was the only thing she recognized.

But to Narcissa's surprise, the girl set the bread down after one bite. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

Wraith gave her that tiny smile. "We got bread in Azkaban," she said softly. "It wasn't anything like this."

Narcissa smiled slightly, understanding what the girl was saying. "Eat carefully," she instructed, pushing up from the table. "You'll want to become accustomed to real food."

Wraith nodded and picked the bread up again. "Narcissa?"

She stopped in the doorway. "Yes?"

"Are they still here?"

Narcissa didn't have to ask who she meant. "No," she replied. "Bellatrix and…that other man left a couple of hours ago." She hesitated. "I don't know about the stranger, but Bella will return with her husband tonight. They live here with us." She cleared her throat. "If there's anything else you'd like, Jiri will get it for you."

Wraith sighed. "Thank you."

Narcissa nodded and left her alone. Jiri blinked at her and then bowed before quickly escaping to the kitchen.

_He's gone,_ Wraith reminded herself as she slowly ate. _That's one less worry at least. Bellatrix…I think I can handle the threat she poses. But my Watcher…Gavin…_She shuddered and set down the porridge spoon, suddenly feeling sick.

"Jiri?" she called hesitantly.

The house-elf came in, as hesitant as she. "Yes, Miss?"

Wraith swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat. "Could I have a glass of water?" she asked.

The house-elf looked relieved. "Of course, Miss. Right away." He returned with a glass of ice water a moment later, offering it to her.

"Thank you, Jiri," Wraith said softly. She sipped the water, grateful for the cold. It seemed to calm her somewhat.

But Jiri could see how her hands shook.


End file.
